We called in a man

We called in a man - a pest control man - who said he could easily shoot the seagulls. Just give him a ring if we wanted him. Oh, and by the way, were the neighbours OK about this? We had to explain that one set of neighbours are anything but OK about it. He looked thoughtful. By the time we phoned him back a couple of days later, he admitted that he wasn't at all keen to shoot the birds now. It would be fine if he could get a nice clean shot at them, but one of them ended up wounded and didn't die cleanly, the neighbours might well call in the police or the RSPCA and put in a complaint.

I could see he was worrying about his professional reputation, but I was also concerned about injured birds from a welfare point of view. I didn't like the idea of shooting them in the first place, but reluctantly accepted that it was probably necessary, and only if they could be despatched swiftly and painlessly. Now there seemed to be a chance that they might suffer a lingering death, not to mention the fate of their flightless chicks left to starve. Much as I dislike them, I couldn't subject them to such a fate. It's not their fault they're seagulls, after all. They're just doing what seagulls do.

So we continue to sneak out into our own garden, quiet and sneaky, wearing big hats and waving hoes, sweeping brushes and other implements over our heads, and the gulls continue to swoop, screeching down towards us each time we venture outside.